


Paved With Bad Intentions

by Shatterdome



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, America AU, Disabled Character, Gambling, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Implied Drug Use, Lesbian Fiona, Mentions of sex work, Other, Road Trip, Set in the vague future, Swearing, Trans Rhys, Violence, also pretty much every organization is now some form of organized crime ring, also sorry roland, also tbh most of the player characters from various games will make appearances, like a few canon ships in the background like Jathena and Jack/Nisha, not like usual borderlands violence tho so???, not ship heavy, probably gonna be gore at some point, unwilling cross country road trip through the american south and southwest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterdome/pseuds/Shatterdome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys, Fiona, and company soooooort of end up with a stolen car, a dead body, and a couple of pissed off gangs on their tail after a night of doing business in New Orleans goes to hell. So, what else can they do but deliver the uh, untimely former head of the Crimson Raiders to the new head in hopes of not getting killed?</p>
<p>Well, she's in Los Angeles and she isn't happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear not all the chapters are going to be this long. There should be around 6 or 7 chapters, maybe 8 if I can't tame the beast.

Of all the trouble Rhys intended to get into in New Orleans, being stuck in the back of a van with a corpse was not one of them. Getting charged for public inebriation? Yeah, that was part of the plan. Losing his prosthetic arm in a drunken bet? Wasn’t a real vacation for him, Vaughn, and Yvette, until that happened. Nearly flushing his whole career down the toilet, just to save it in a moment of triumph? Of course! 

Unfortunately, that was what led Rhys to his current situation, as Vaughn crouched by Rhys’s left side trying to control his own breathing, as the van barreled down an interstate towards a safehouse for some dangerous gangsters.

“Hold on, Fi. I think I hear something knocking around in the back,” the higher of the two voices said.

“I swear to god, knowing this asshole it’s probably a bunch of loose flashbangs or something. Go make sure it doesn’t go off,” the other voice responded.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Vaughn whispered, trying to hide behind a crate full of whatever.

Rhys was too tall for that, and decided there was only one solution: play dead. He splayed out next to the dead guy, his arm at a weird angle, stuck his tongue out for good measure, and screwed his eyes shut. The sound of someone climbing into the back nearly made Rhys piss himself. 

“Holy shit,” the first voice said, much closer this time. “Fi, there’s some dead dudes back here!” Stepping forward, she stepped on Rhys’s hand, and he couldn’t help but yelp a bit. She got off Rhys’s hand, and all was quiet for a moment, and maybe it was okay—

And when Rhys opened his eyes, there stood a young woman with brown skin, dreadlocks, and eyes like emeralds—like seriously some Harry Potter level bullshit green eyes— staring down at him. It took Rhys a moment to realize she had a fucking shotgun—a shotgun!—pointed right at his head.

“Well, there’s about to be some dead dudes, plural, back here,” she said.

That’s when Rhys pissed himself. That was also when Vaughn jumped at the girl, the gun smacked Rhys pretty hard in the head, and he passed out.

 

Now is as good a time as any to go back a bit.

About a month earlier, Rhys got one hell of a promotion through a year or two of cut-throat business tactics, friendly sabotage, and a good deal of help from his besties and coworkers, Vaughn and Yvette. They deserved this vacation so, so much, so on Rhys (or rather, Hyperion)’s dime, they headed on down to New Orleans to see if they could expand south. As a home development company, Hyperion was stretching across the country quite literally, as more and more developments showed up overnight. Having a hand in the black market didn’t exactly hurt profits, either. Weapons dealing, insider trading, loans, you need it; Hyperion’s got it for a price. Rhys slept a lot better when he didn’t think what that price was for other people. And even when not thinking on it couldn’t sooth his conscience, he always had his friends and alcohol. 

They had a week in New Orleans to secure at least one contract out of like, five different options. Rhys was assured that since he was new to his fancy upper-managerial position, it wouldn’t be too bad if he failed. That was definitely bullshit, but how hard could it be? Rhys’d done it before with a miner’s coalition in fucking North Dakota, he could get a contract down in Louisiana. 

But first, he and his squad were gonna have fun.

Vaughn was drunk before the plane from New York even took off and was puking a pretty penny’s worth of booze into the toilet the moment they hit turbulence. Rhys and Yvette were taking a uh, more “conservative” approach for this leg of their trip.

“Alright, Rhys,” Yvette said, cracking open a lobster claw, part of her first-class in-flight meal. “Tomorrow we’re meeting with a private security agency—”

“So mercs?” Rhys interrupted, shoving some caviar into his mouth.

“Yes, which is why you should call them private security, so they don’t shoot you in the goddamn face. Anyway, I did some extra research on these goons, and you’ve gotta be careful with their negotiator.” Yvette pulled up a picture on her phone of a guy with an angular face pointed off with a goatee that matched his light-brown hair. Piercings stuck out of his ear and nose, and the way he smiled looked like he was stifling a sneeze. “August. Gang boss’s son, gets away with murder, literally. Careful, my contact thinks he can smell fear.”

“Eugh, maybe the extra hole in his nose siphons fear pheromones from the air,” Rhys sneered.

Yvette was not amused. “See, its shit like that’ll get you killed. Anyway, stay on his good side, but play up his mommy-issues. Probably get some liquor in you, too.” She pulled up another picture, this time of a three-story bar/hotel/casino front with sign reading “The Purple Skag” in likewise colored letters. “He runs this place. Drink with him, it’ll make him trust you more.”

“Well I’ll never turn that advice down,” Rhys said, examining the photograph. “You sure we should go for this one first, though? I got a guy with big Atlas stocks looking to sell. It’s not as much of a threat anymore, but if we get controlling stocks, we pretty much buy out our oldest competition. Our higher-ups are suckers for superiority complexes and poetic justice and crap like that.”

“We got a whole week,” Yvette grinned suddenly. “Por que no los dos? Why stop the Rhys’s Hyperion hype train now? Bring back everything we can, soon we’ll be running the place.”

“I like your thinking,” Rhys responded and reclined his seat. 

“Just be careful to not die, alright?”

“Yvette, you’re acing like you think I’m incompetent. I can handle this and every punk New Orleans throws at us.” Rhys reached out for more caviar, and spilt it down his front.

 

“Alright, Sash,” Fiona said to her little sister. It was a day after a bunch of assholes she’d never met before touched down their plane in her home city, but that was every day. And every asshole Fiona didn’t know was a potential mark, a few hundred more dollars in her pocket, another meal on the table, another rad hat to wear. She just didn’t know these particular unknown assholes would fuck up her life. “This is the big one. We can do it. Stay calm.”

“I know, Fi. Let go of my arm, you’re cutting off my circulation,” Sasha replied, shaking her bare arm free from her sister’s clutch. She was decked out in a red sequence dress, her natural locs hidden under a ridiculously long and straight blonde wig, makeup and contours drastically changing the appearance of her face shape. The outfit would have contrasted nicely with Sasha’s eyes, the same eyes as Fiona, so the duo hid them behind brown contacts. Plus, Fiona and Felix wanted Sasha as unrecognizable as possible for this one. 

“Are you sure—” Fiona started, before she saw Sasha’s face, which, like Sasha herself, looked strong as hell at the moment, which shut Fiona up.

“Don’t. We can’t back out of this one,” she said, turning to her sister. “Felix needs the operation as soon as possible, and we can finally get out of here. We need this.”

Fiona bit her lip. “I was going to ask if you wanted to switch roles,” Fiona lied through her teeth.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “What, you think you could pull this outfit off better? Or do you think you’d make a better stripper-escort-whatever?” 

“Pshhh,” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I’d be able to reach the pole.”

“If that was a short joke, it didn’t work. They go floor to ceiling,” Sasha smirked. “You should know that, given how many strip clubs you’ve frequented in your youth.”

“Excuse you, child, I am still a youngin’,” Fiona tipped her white hat to Sasha, imitating some dude she saw in a youtube video. “I am as hip and cool as ever, m’lady.”

Sasha looked Fiona dead in the eye. “Never do that again.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

The two rounded the corner of the bustling street, and saw a big corner building at the other end. Old-timey, neon purple letters read, in all caps, “The Purple Skag,” with a martini seemingly swirling next to it. The outer pillars were draped in purple fairy lights, giving the outer deck/smoking area an iridescent purple glow. It had a huge parking garage and lot next to it. Fiona quickly squeezed her baby sister’s hand before letting go along with a quick sigh.

“You know, I’ve met him before—under cover of course,” Sasha said, glancing at Fiona’s worried face. “He’s bad, but not nearly as bad as everyone says. I—honestly if we were living in different circumstances—I could see myself trusting him.”

“Trust no one,” Fiona said, as if Sasha needed reminding. “You, me, Felix—we’re all we got in this crapsack world. Lord Mommy-Issues could and would beat us down and leave us for dead if he felt so.” She bit her lip again, smudging her lipstick and lip liner on her teeth. “It’s been done before by people better than him.”

Sasha looked down and fiddled with her big (fake) gold earrings. Fiona knew she couldn’t remember—not the way Fiona did—getting abandoned, but the sting was there the same. “I know. I’ll remember that.” Sasha looked at her sister, and for a second, Fiona never hated disguises more, for changing her sister before her eyes into someone else, someone other than Sasha. “It’s us against everyone forever, isn’t it?”

Hesitating, Fiona nodded. “Us and Felix.” She let out a breath and stepped towards the club, Sasha trailing behind. “If shit goes sideways, get out of the way.” She adjusted the concealed pistol up her sleeve. 

And just like that, Fiona switched. She held her head higher than before, balled her fists, didn’t spare a single glance to see if Sasha was behind her. The drunks on the sidewalk jumped from her way, a woman who oozed an air of destruction for all in her path. The club bouncer tried to stop her, but all she had to do was nearly shout “new talent coming through,” and he let her and Sasha passed, mumbling out directions to August’s office. Waiting outside were two business-looking nerds and a fairly stylish hot lady with them, drinks, clipboards, and a briefcase split between them. One of the dudes had an advanced prosthetic arm and slicked back hair, and got pretty mad when Fiona breezed by him.

“Hey lady, we’ve been waiting longer,” he barked when Fiona wrapped her knuckles on the door.

“Congrats, haircut, you can tell time,” Fiona spat back as one of August’s grunts opened the door. He gave the group a once-over, and beckoned Sasha and Fiona in.

“Lidia Strauss, I presume,” August says, sitting behind an oversized mahogany desk next to a shelf covered completely in expensive bottles and shot glasses. The room was dark, and after a second, Fiona realized it was lit by black light. The nearly-Mafia prince had a smudge illuminated under his left nostril, the side that wasn’t pierced. His hair seemed as abrasive as his personality, stiff and pointy from styling gel, hairspray, whatever it took.

“You presumed right,” Fiona sat across from him, splaying out her legs in a display of dominance, throwing an arm over the back of her chair. “I’m this lovely lady’s agent, if you will,” she gestured to Sasha, who stood silent by the door. “And from what I’ve heard, you’re trying to straight up rob her of her services.”

“Oh really?” August grinned and leaned in. “You say that, Sasha baby?”

“She just told me the amount,” Fiona interrupted before Sasha could say anything. Had to protect her any way she could, she figured. Plus, Fiona didn’t want to know why he was so quick to call Sasha baby. “She said thirty grand a year, but I’ve seen this girl dance, August. She’s easily worth twice that, if not more.” Fiona made a gamble and leaned in, just as August had. Backing down was a sign of weakness. He raised an eyebrow in return, and Fiona couldn’t help but notice his eyes were just so goddamn blue. “She’s the best around, buddy,” Fiona said, and she meant it, just not in the way August and his goon took it. Her lip twitched up for a moment, completely rehearsed. “I’ll go easy on you though. Fifty instead of sixty.”

“Are you kidding me?” August laughed. He was enjoying this, Fiona could tell. “I can pick any girl up for half that and get the same out of her.”

Fiona didn’t react.

“Thirty-five,” August relented, his voice gaining a slight edge.

“Forty-five,” Fiona countered, “and I’ll throw in a little extra.” 

August leaned back, face alight with curiosity. “What more can you give me?” he chuckled and stood up. A flashbang grenade secured at his belt loop clunked against the desk dangerously. “Lidia, I got it all!” He gestured around the room. “Booze? Drugs? Cash? Girls? Everything at my fingertips. Shit, I have an entire organization making sure I get what I want!” He slammed his hands on the desk, leaning into Fiona’s personal space. She didn’t flinch. “What makes you think you can give me anything I can’t get on my own?”

Fiona wanted to look at Sasha so much, check on her baby sister, and make sure she saw this man for what he was. She couldn’t. They could die that way.

“Love, loyalty,” Fiona said, turning her head inside out for things she can offer the man. August’s eyes snapped to her. “Things money can’t buy. See Sasha,” She gestured to her sister. “I’m fond of her, and she’s fond of you. And from the way she’s been speaking of you, I think you’re fond of her, too.” Fiona stood up, and as a response August straightened up. Fiona relished in the slightly amazed look he had—she was doing good. “She has a five year contract with me, completed two. I’ll let her out of her contract with me after her third. That’s two years earlier than most. Plus, you can have her whenever you want, provided she wants you too.” 

“What’re you saying?” August asked, his face’s hue changing under the black light. Fiona couldn’t tell with the color distortion, but if she had to put money on it, she’d say his face was red. 

“I’m saying, I give your relationship my blessings.” This was a lie. “You can love her at any point for free, provided she loves you.” Also a lie. “And when she’s out of her contract with me in a year, you can marry her.” BIGGEST LIE.

August continued looking at Sasha, his eyes wide. “And why do you think I’d want that?” he asked, not breaking eye contact with Fiona’s sister.

“Because you haven’t left her eyes more than twice since we walked in here.” Fiona sat back down. “I’ve seen plenty of people in love during my time, August. And you two have it bad.”

August scrubbed his hands over his face. Fiona expected him to sink into his chair, but instead he reached to the top shelf and grabbed some tequila and three shot glasses from the back of a cupboard. Then, he looked back at Sasha, and jerked his chin up as a gesture for her to come over. She walked over, fretting with her hands. 

“What’d’you think, babe?” August asked, his face looking soft for the first time since Fiona walked in the room.

“I…” Sasha started off. Fiona felt safe watching her reaction. Though a blush didn’t carry over in her brown skin, she was trying to hide a smile, refusing eye contact with everyone in the room, signs Fiona knew as embarrassment in her little sister. “I wouldn’t refuse this offer, August.” She looked up, tears starting to well in her eyes. Fiona quietly applauded her sister’s acting abilities but worried that crying would fuck up her contact lenses. “This woman—Lidia—she’s only ever done me good, and if she thinks this is good, it has to be.” 

“Babe…” August started, then Sasha rushed over and they were kissing. Fiona looked away, and when it lasted longer than it needed, cleared her throat.

“So we have a deal?” she asked, focusing on August instead of her sister—her baby sister—wrapping her arms around his waist.

August smiled. “We got a deal, Strauss.”

The three took celebratory shots for their new business agreement and August and Sasha’s tentative engagement.

 

“Oh my god this is taking forever,” Rhys complained thirty-odd minutes after those two women straight up ignored the common courtesy—the law—of not cutting lines. He grabbed Vaughn’s wrist to check the time, since he himself never had a watch. 

“It’s only three minutes after you last checked, Rhys,” Vaughn said, rolling his eyes behind his enhanced glasses. “Do you want to rush a guy who is apparently known for violent tendencies?” 

“Nah, Rhys is just mad the hot lady’s compliment was incorrect,” Yvette giggled, sipping her fourth martini. “He can’t tell time after all!” Yvette doubled over laughing, keeping her martini (that Rhys paid for) perfectly level with the floor, not spilling a single drop.

“Rude,” Rhys responded. “Both you and the moderately attractive lady, if we’re being honest.”

“Come on, Rhys, she was kind of hot,” Vaughn countered.

Rhys huffed. “If you’re into hats, I guess. But her personality ruined it.” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest, used to the weight of his metal arm on his flesh one, on the now-flat plane of his chest, since his top surgery a few years ago. He was right, dammit, and this August guy should have seen them an hour ago. “And ‘Haircut’-? I have wonderful hair, thank you very much! God, I hope I never have to deal with that woman again.” 

Yvette drained her drink and excused herself to the bathroom. After she rounded the corner, the door opened and August and the two women emerged a raucous trio. August slapped both of them on the backs, and handed the hot lady/hat lady some keys.

“To-To family,” he said, and then slapped the woman in the red sequins ass on the ass. “And you,” he said, and Rhys could see him squeeze. “I’ll see you when-when I’m done with these guys, alright, babe?” He dangled a room key in front of her before dropping it into her open palm. “I’ll try to be quick, ‘kay?” The two women exited, and August tried to straighten up. “Oh-okay, and you guys are?” 

Rhys, finally feeling the alcohol and only having one friend present to shame him into common sense, decided to turn on the charm. “We’re here to blow your world.” Unfortunately, the charm meant a lot of eyebrow waggling and an attempt at a seductive voice. 

August looked weirded out. “Are you guys hookers?” He turned back into the room. “Aye Finch, did you order me some dude hookers as a joke?”

“Sorry about my friend,” Vaughn hurried, and pulled Rhys back by his arm before Rhys could talk more. “We’re with Hyperion, here to offer you a business deal.” Vaughn lifted his briefcase, shaking it for good measure. 

August looked confused for a moment, then a light went off in his head. “Oh yeah. Step in,” he said, and wobbled back into his office. Rhys and Vaughn shared a look and followed.

“We uh, have another person in our negotiations party,” Rhys said, sitting down in the wooden chair in front of the desk. A bottle of half-empty tonic water sat by his elbow, and under the black light August’s desk looked like a Jackson Pollock. Rhys really hoped it was from the drinks. “She’s in the bathroom. We can wait—”

“Nah, boys, this’ll be quick,” August said, pouring some shots of alcohol into a few shot glasses already on the table. “I done my research on Hyperion, and I know what you guys do.” He slid two of the shots over to Vaughn and Rhys. The goon in the corner moved his hand to his gun, and Rhys caught Vaughn’s eyes—pure terror. “Working with you guys, it’s a-it’s a gamble. Your company wants to rule the world, and you betray the shit out of whomever it takes.” August leveled his eyes to Rhys’s, and smirked. He lifted the shot glass as if giving a toast. “Or you guys could make me really frickin’ rich. Like I said, it’s a gamble.” He tossed the drink down his throat and slammed the glass on the table. Rhys and Vaughn followed suit. Rhys made a sour face from the drink.

“Trust me, we’re here to make you rich as hell,” Rhys said, lying through his teeth. He leaned forward, reaching for the bottle to pour himself and August another drink. August snatched it away, his face riddled with contempt. 

“Convince me. Two minutes. Go.” August said, setting a timer on his phone. 

Words dripped from Rhys and Vaughn’s mouths in incoherent bursts.

“I—we—great customer satisfaction,” Vaughn tried.

“Control of the southeast region—401K—An in with the cops,” Rhys responded, before his eyes fell on a deck of cards, and he got the best bad idea. “We’ll play for it.” He could feel Vaughn seething next to him at the suggestion.

“Excuse me?” August replied, scrunching up his eyebrows.

“Cards. Three hands of blackjack. If I win, you sign the contract. If you win, you get whatever you want,” Rhys explained, bluffing confidence.

August considered it for a moment. “Your arm.”

“What?” Vaughn asked, pushing up his glasses.

“I want his arm if I win. Seems cool,” August shrugged. “It’d make a good trophy.”

“Alright.” Rhys stuck his hand—his human hand—for August to shake. “My arm or your signature. Vaughn,” Rhys said, turning to his best friend who was currently looking at him like Rhys was the dumbest individual on the planet. “Cut the cards.”

“Oh hell no,” August said, getting up and moving towards the door. “We play with my table, my dealer.”

“What, you think I’ll cheat?” Rhys asked, far too upset by this accusation, considering he was 100% planning on cheating.

“Yes.”

Rhys leveled his eyes at August. Well, a gamble is a gamble. “Fine.”

 

“I still can’t believe you got him to make you an official driver for his gang,” Sasha told Fiona through her earpiece.

“I can’t believe he didn’t see me tossing the tequila over my shoulder,” Fiona responded, hauling a bag of loot Sasha dropped down a vent from several stories above. She tossed it in the back of one of many identical brown vans. “Or like, that when I started pouring it was tonic. That dude was way gone by the time we left.” 

“You can say that again,” Sasha giggled from the other end. “I got a clear view of the gambling floor from here, and he and some guy are at the blackjack tables. There’s a huge crowd around them.”

“He winning?” Fiona asked, sneaking back through the parking lotto the vent.

“Can’t tell. Probably. Ooh, they’re taking a gambling break to scream at each other.”

“Eyes on the prize, Sash,” Fiona reminded, then ducked behind another van as some shadows shifted ahead. A few people in official-looking suits wandered into sight, laughing like hyenas. 

“And then—and then, his kids are all, weeeeh!” the man in front said, doubling over in laughter. From what Fiona could see, he had sharp features, swoopy hair, and a bit of yellow undershirt peeking out under his suit. 

Holy shit that was Handsome Jack, New Orleans’ most infamous corrupt FBI agent/hitman/king of framing the highest bidder’s enemies. Fiona internally swore every swear word in every language that she knew how to swear in, and hoped he wasn’t working for August today. Without giving away her position, Fiona tried to get a better look. With him was a huge white guy with black and grey hair and looked about half cyborg, and a smirking brown woman with chin-length black hair and a cowboy hat—Wilhelm and Nisha, his well-known cronies. Shit. He was just missing his annoying robot and angry gladiator friend, neither of which seemed to be around, thank fucking god. However, Wilhelm was carrying an in-use body bag over his shoulder. Fiona sunk down and tried to breathe easy.

“Alright, let’s frame this bitch and be done with it,” Jack breathed, directing his people forward. “There’s a stockade half a block down from the east exit where I’m sure this dipshit will go. Nisha, you shoot the shit out of her if she tries to make a break, but keep her alive.” Fiona could hear the fucking grin, that asshole. 

With footsteps approaching, Fiona rolled under the van she’d been loading up with stolen goods. The footsteps stopped at the one next to her. The body bag was dropped as the trunk was opened, then lifted back up and tossed in.

“I love starting gang wars. They’re so profitable,” Jack said brightly. “Alright team, break.” They were walking away when Fiona’s earpiece started buzzing.

“Fi?”

And the retreating footsteps stopped. Fiona held her breath, watching two pairs of feet from under the truck. They stood still for a moment, before walking away. Fiona breathed out, before getting pulled out from under the truck by her leg. Kicking and screaming, she found herself staring straight into the mismatched eyes of Handsome Jack. Wilhelm and Nisha wandered over, guns drawn.

“Hey there, cupcake.”

 

“So, hit or fold?” the dealer asked Rhys during their third hand. He had a win, August had a win, and Yvette had actually tried to strangle him when she found out what he did. She and Vaughn were forefront in the crowd, but not able to do anything useful like help Rhys cheat. So far, he’d relied on his semi-mediocre card-counting skills, which at least won him a round, but dammit he could not wait to trade his glass eye in for Hyperion’s upcoming ECHO eye, which was supposed to be able to scan stuff. 

Rhys looked down at his hands. A jack and a five, so fifteen. If his counting was right, the dealer should be doling out a low-number next. Six and under and he was golden. He had this. “Hit me.”

He got a king. He did not have this.

“Fuck me.”

“Ah, ah, you busted, didn’t you?!” August clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Well, looks like you’re out a contract and an arm. Hand it over!”

“No way!” Rhys shouted, taking a few steps back. He registered this as a mistake immediately, but oh well, might as well commit now. “You cheated!”

“I cheated?” August screamed back, jabbing himself in the chest. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you mumbling numbers under your breath, Mr. Business Man!” 

“That’s Mr. Ten Million Dollars!” Rhys corrected, brain running in bad-idea overdrive. “One more round. I lose, you get ten million dollars and my arm. I win, you hand complete control of your businesses and gang over to Hyperion.” There was a little voice in the back of Rhys’s head screeching at full volume, but fuck it, he was gonna walk out a winner.

“Rhys, what the hell?!” Yvette yelled as she and Vaughn rushed to his side. “He didn’t mean it,” he assured August. “He can’t guarantee that. In fact, he’ll be handing over his arm and we’ll be leaving now.”

“Oh I meant it,” Rhys interjected.

August looked between the two and grinned. “We’ve got ourselves a bet.”

Everyone crowded the table, people pushing right up against Rhys’s back. Yvette got pushed a bit to the side by rubberneckers, while Vaughn was stuck right next to Rhys. Glancing over, Rhys caught the look in his friend’s eye—they held unusual optimism, considering that Rhys was good as boned. 

The dealer tossed down the first card, face down. A ten.

 

With all the commotion, nobody really noticed the man in the FBI suit marching a woman with a white hat through the edge of the floor. The revolver pressed into her back likewise went unnoticed. The nearly identical set of keys in his pocket also went unnoticed.

“So, what gangs you throwing against each other?” Fiona asked Jack, trying to keep a level voice. “I mean, I’m gonna die anyway, so you might as well tell me.”

“I haven’t decided on that yet, actually,” Jack purred.

 

“Hit me.”

August had a five. Rhys got a seven. 

 

“What, for your gang war? That is piss-poor planning,” Fiona responded. The pistol up her sleeve must have weighed a million pounds, but it was a single shot, and it had to count. Her arms, though behind her back, couldn’t get in a good enough position to shoot Jack.

“Not that, dumb-dumb. The head of the Crimson Raiders is in the back of Vallory’s truck. You think I don’t have that shit on lock?” Jack gave her a slight thwack on the back with the revolver.

“Shit, that’s gonna be a mess to clean up,” Fiona responded, and chanced a look back. He looked sleazy, and the pale of his face glowed in the lights..

“Yeah well, that’s why you aren’t dead in a dumpster yet, kiddo. I’ve seen you around here and there. Obviously trouble, but you’re able to handle yourself somewhat—obviously not against me, but nobody can.”

“What are you saying?”

 

“Hit me.”

August got an eight. Rhys got a two. As discreetly as he could, he exchanged the ten for the ace up his sleeve Vaughn had slipped him.

 

“I’m saying, come work for me. You’ll be a lot less likely to die, you’ll get to hang around like, the coolest guy ever, and you’ll get super rich super quick!” Jack chuckled. He stopped Fiona, who turned around to face him. 

She tried to muster up an enthused face. “Sure, hug on it?”

 

“We-heh-heeeell August,” Rhys said, a shit-eating grin gracing his face. “It’s been nice, but there’s not much that can beat a twenty,” he flipped over his ace.

“’Cept a twenty-one,” August retorted, flipping over his remaining card, another eight.

“What?!” Rhys squealed and ran the math through in his head several times. 8+5+8=21. Shit. It checked out.

August’s face was downright predatory. “So, Mr. Ten Million Dollars, how’m I getting that payment? Check or cash?” He laughed at Rhys’s red face. “Oh, and the arm. Gimme the arm.”

Hating everything and everyone, Rhys started dismantling his arm, disconnecting nerves and wires from ports long integrated into his nervous system. He was used to it, so used to it being part of him, that when it disengaged and became dead weight in his human hand he fumbled, and out came the card he’d exchanged for an ace.

The crowd became deathly quiet. August stared at Rhys, then signaled his security. Like, half the place had their guns trained on Rhys in a moment.

“Uh, that isn’t mine,” Rhys quipped. He saw Yvette inch closer and closer to August’s belt before there was a bright light and horrible sound, followed by a ridiculous amount of smoke. 

Rhys hit the floor.

 

The grenade had loosened Jack’s grip and attention on Fiona for just a moment, and that was all she needed. She dove into the crowd immediately, into the chaos, into the smoke. Shit, flashbangs weren’t supposed to smoke like that. August must’ve gotten it special made or something.

“Sasha we are leaving now,” she hissed into the earpiece after she fished it from her pocket.

“What’s going on?” Sasha asked, a hint of fear in her voice. Fiona heard her running down some stairs.

“I’ll tell you when we get the hell away from here. You got any weapons? We might need to fight our way out.”

“No! Shit, I looted a shotgun from August’s room, but it’s empty.”

“Whatever, we’ll bluff if we need,” Fiona kept low while trying to snake her way back to the parking lot.

 

“C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon,” Rhys heard, then realized he was draped over Vaughn’s shoulder as the shorter man tried to find a way out. 

“What the hell?”

“Yvette saved our lives, you got flashbanged, and we need to get the hell out of here!” Vaughn’s voice was several octaves too high, but then again he had plenty of reason to be scared.

“My arm,” Rhys said, groping for his right with his left. “Is on fire.”

“Yeah bro you’re not gonna find it there right now,” Vaughn cleared out of the crowd and let Rhys back on his feet. “We’ll get you a new one if we don’t die.”

The two men ran down the hall, following vague exit signs until they found themselves in the parking garage. A brown truck van the entrance had its back door ajar, and the two went straight for it. 

“Do you know how to hotwire a—” Vaughn started and stepped on something…fleshlike. He looked down, and unzipped the top a bit. “Oh my god dead body.” His face immediately turned green.

“Don’t puke, for the love of god don’t puke,” Rhys warned, then ducked down as he heard voices approaching, followed by the van unlocking by remote.

 

“This one!” Fiona shouted, dragging Sasha behind her. Already, Sasha’d been disposing of the disguise, wig gone, contacts gone, heels abandoned. Somehow she’d changed into corduroy pants since Fiona last saw her, and toted a shotgun far too big compared to her body.

“They all look the same!”

“Well this is the one that beeped!” Fiona responded. “I pickpocketed Handsome-fucking-Jack for these keys, I know which one it is!”

They threw themselves into the front seats and Fiona threw the car in drive. 

“East entrance is blockaded and has a sniper. What safe houses do we have that are west of here so we don’t need to double back?”

“Not ‘til way out of the city.” Sasha dug out her phone and pulled up a maps function. “Should we call Felix?”

“Not ‘til we’re out of the fire,” Fiona responded, flying out the west exit of the parking lot. She heard shots, and up ahead was, well, the two worst people she’d ever met, standing there with guns. “Shit.” 

August shot at the car.

“SHIT, they’re going for the tires,” Fiona said, trying to zig-zag as much as she could.

Jack shot at the windshield.

“SHIT,” Sasha screamed, seeing the bullet-resistant glass shatter in part between her and her sister.

Fiona nearly stood on the gas pedal as she drove by them. “Take the wheel!” She shouted at her sister, and hung out the window. Pulling her pistol, she had to choose- Jack or August.

She shot at Jack. She got his hand.

He was screaming a lot of curse words, interspersed with “goddamn bandits” when they drove away.

 

The sisters were on the road for about an hour in complete silence when Sasha heard something. “Hold on, Fi. I think I hear something knocking around in the back,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“I swear to god, knowing this asshole it’s probably a bunch of loose flashbangs or something. Go make sure it doesn’t go off.”

Sasha climbed into the back seat. “Holy shit, Fi, there’s some dead dudes back here!” 

Fiona swore under her breath. She took the wrong damn car. That means there was no cash, nothing to pay for Felix’s operation for—

“Well, there’s about to be some dead dudes, plural, back here,” Sasha continued.

“What?” Fiona shouted back, before some sort of scuffle with unknown assailants started. She couldn’t see who it was, but one of them was thrown into Fiona’s shoulder, causing her to swerve off the road and into a bog.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the road trip starts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, A. sorry it took forever, I have very poor time-management. B. Gore and blood towards the end of the chapter. C. I have very little experience with concussions or cooking eggs, do not take my word on any of it. D. Enjoy!

Fiona sat still at the steering wheel for a moment, every iota of her being wanting to scream ‘fuck’ very loudly. Instead, she took a deep breath before pulling out her pistol and climbing into the back of the van. Sasha and the little guy were in a tangled pile on the ground, too shaken to actually fight past pushing each other in the face and occasionally slapping each other. The other guy—Haircut, from outside August’s door—was trying to prop himself up, and looked pretty green in the face. Fiona threw open the back doors.

“Don’t puke in here,” she commanded, and grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt and started dragging him towards the door.

“Woah-woah-woah, no no no,” he said, then pitched forward. Hanging half-over the van bed, he barfed right out the back. “Uhg. Where’s my arm?” he asked, rolling on his right side and wiping his mouth with his left hand.

“Don’t know don’t care.” Fiona looked behind her at Sasha and the little guy. They’d detangled, but were still glaring at each other, sitting on opposite sides of the van. That one—the little guy—would be the problem-causer if Fiona and Sasha needed to fight these guys, what with his friend being in piss-poor condition. She palmed her gun and kneeled in front of the little guy. “What are you and your friend doing in my van?”

“You can’t get anything out of us if we’re dead,” he blurted out. Then, he took off his glasses and started fiddling with them intently, not looking at Fiona at all. “We fucked up big back there, and I know August won’t be happy, but we’re important men from a rich company, I’m sure you can ransom us back—“

“Vaughn we’re-we’re dead if they’re with Aug-Augst-Auggy,” Haircut cut in, rubbing his shoulder where his arm should be. Fiona saw a mechanical port there—high tech. Very high tech. Maybe she could ransom them back. “—And, and even if they’re not with Auggy, d’you really think Hyper-Hyperion is gonna buy back our asses?”

“Shut up bro, you’ve got a drunkcussion,” the little guy—Vaughn—snapped at his friend. 

“Drunkcussion?” Sasha asked before Fiona could interrogate a bit further.

“Concussion while drunk,” Vaughn shrugged.

“It happens often enough that you guys named it?” Sasha crept forward, so both she and Fiona were boxing Vaughn into a corner. Fiona guessed that she meant to be good cop for some sort of unspoken good cop/bad cop, but she was doing a shit job at it so far.

“Focus!” Fiona snapped, both to herself and the rest of the van. “Any of those goons could be on us in minutes. You,” she pointed at Haircut. “You’re with Hyperion?”

He tossed a shaky thumbs-up, not willing to pull his head back into the car yet.

“We should just leave them here to die if they’re Hyperion,” Sasha muttered. Vaughn flinched.

Yeah, Sasha sucked at good cop.

“We’re not killing you,” Fiona clarified to Vaughn. From the back Haircut grunted something that sounded like ‘awesome,’ but Fiona ignored it and continued. “But we’re not letting you go either. First off,” Fiona pulled the gun up and pointed it at Haircut. She watched the terror in Vaughn’s eyes grow. Sure, she felt bad, but the gun was completely unloaded so right then the guy only had his current health concerns threatening him. “Talk. What do you know, and why are you in this van?”

“We don’t know anything. We were trying to broker a deal with your boss and well, things went wrong. Our other friend is back there, and we don’t know what happened to her.”

“Our boss?” Sasha started.

It was this exact moment Fiona remembered that her sister had, along with August, drank a crapload of tequila, and was definitely off her game. “Sash—” 

“You don’t know Felix,” Sasha finished, jabbing a finger into Vaughn’s chest.

“Who’s Felix?” Haircut shouted out from the back.

“Exactly,” Sasha said, and turned to Fiona. “They don’t even know who Felix is!”

“So wait, you guys aren’t with August?” Vaughn asked, inching up a bit from his hunched over position.

“Oh shit,” Sasha muttered, driving the last nail into the coffin.

“Alright look,” Fiona cut in, deciding that while Sasha’d done enough damage, maybe they could salvage the situation with the truth. Well, mostly the truth. “You fucked up, we fucked up. We all fucked up and now we’re in the same boat—the same van floating down a river of shit. See that guy?” Fiona gestured to the body. “Head of the Crimson Raiders. Handsome Jack is trying to start a gang war between them and August’s bunch, and we all just happened to wander in at the wrong time.”

“Handsome Jack?” Haircut asked from the back, raising his head up. “He was there? Holy shit, did he say anything about me?”

“What—I don’t know, why would a crazed murderer turned FBI agent say anything about you?” Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“He kind of has controlling stock of our company. Rhys has a Pinterest board dedicated to him titled #Goals,” Vaughn explained.

“That’s weird,” Fiona replied, and mentally renamed Haircut to Rhys, his proper name. She carried on before Rhys could interrupt her. “Anyway, shit’s creak, we’re up it, and you can be sure that Handsome Jack and August are gonna be blaming this murder—assassination, whatever, on us. So, we gotta find some Crimson Raiders to explain this to before they fucking kill us.”

She left out that should thing go south, she and Sasha were definitely pinning the whole thing on Rhys and Vaughn, but whatever. Fiona fully expected them to have the same plan in the opposite direction. “Deal?” Fiona asked, sticking out her hand.

“How the hell are we supposed to find these people?” Rhys asked, pulling himself upright and back into the van. He rubbed his eye and Fiona realized they didn’t match, sort of like Jack’s. But the closer she looked, the more she realized one of them, the brighter one, had to be a glass eye. The pupil was the perfect level of dilated for a sunny day, while the other was blown from the concussion. It wasn’t moving quite right and didn’t seem to fit well with the swelling on his face—not threatening to pop out, no, but definitely bulging a bit. It reminded her of Felix before he got his eyepatch-monocle-microscope thing.

“Uhh, Miss?” Rhys asked, when Fiona’d been staring for too long.

“Fiona. Shit sorry, got distracted by your eye. Should that come out for your concussion?”

“Not dying—Not dying is higher on my priority list,” Rhys waved it off. “How are we supposed to find these people? Wave a flag at anyone wearing crimson and ask what they know?”

Fiona glared at Rhys. “I’ve got a guy who can get us to them,” she said, and once again stuck her hand out to the two. Sasha followed suit, spitting in her palm first. Fiona liked that and spat in her hand, too. “We look out for each other, get to the Raiders and keep each other alive. After that, we can all kill each other or whatever. Deal?”

“That is disgusting,” Rhys recoiled from the hands held out by the sisters.

“Deal?!” Fiona repeated.

Rhys and Vaughn spat in their hands.

 

“How much longer?” Rhys whined around three in the morning. Everyone was cramped up in the front seat to avoid being stuck with the dead guy, and he got the hump seat. Air conditioning blasting almost as high as the classic rock station, he was starting to get a bit uncomfortable. He was also tired as hell but no one would let him sleep, which sucked.

“Well we’d have been there by now if someone had tried to help get us out of that bog,” Fiona responded from behind the wheel. She was the only other one awake in the car but even she was starting to look tired.

“I’d have helped, but, you know, concussion,” Rhys responded. 

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“So why were you guys there in the first place?” Rhys asked. It was the second or third time he asked, but mixed with not getting a straight answer and forgetting Fiona’s answer every time he asked, he figured he might as well go for it.

Fiona sighed. “We need money,” she trailed off. Rhys gestured for her to continue. “Felix really needs a new heart. Hard to get on any official lists when you’ve been switching out your identity for like, forty plus years. He found a doctor out in California who’d do it quietly, but for a price. So, yeah. We decided fuck New Orleans, rob the closest thing they got to royalty blind, and head west.” She glanced at Rhys. “Are we doing truth for a truth now or something?”

“Well we both need to stay awake, so might as well. Ask away.” He cracked his neck. He watched Fiona bite her lip a moment before settling on a question.

“What’s with the arm and eye?” she asked, glancing over.

Rhys stiffened for a moment. “I lost them, and these are replacements.”

“Sore subject?”

“Yes, and that’s two questions.” Rhys fidgeted with his shoulder socket, missing his metal arm. It felt weird at the moment, but Rhys knew he could adjust back to only having one arm very quick, if need be. “What exactly is Felix to you two, anyway? He like your dad or what?”

Fiona sighed. “Sasha and I, we got abandoned as kids. Lived on the streets and out of people’s poorly-guarded pockets. Felix caught us trying to pick-pocket him one day, and showed us how to do it better. We’ve all been together ever since.” She gripped the steering wheel tight. “He’s the closest thing Sash and I have ever had to a father.”

Rhys thought about asking about their mother, about getting abandoned. He thought better than to do that. “Sore subject?” he asked instead, offering a weak smile. Fiona nodded. “Alright, we’re even in numbers now. Ask away.”

“You and Vaughn together?” she asked, a playful smirk on her face.

“Psssh, together like boyfriends? Nah, but we’re best bros. Our other bro is stuck back in New Orleans. Vaughn said he texted her, said she’s safe, but I want to call her first thing in the morning, check in on her.” Rhys buffed Fiona in the shoulder. “Why? You interested in one of us beefcakes?”

Fiona snorted. “Oh hell no, I’m a lesbian. Sasha might, though, she has awful taste in men.”

“Well then that’s good news for her, because I’m not awful in any way, especially not being a man,” Rhys preened, and actually brushed off his shoulder. He meant it—he put a shitload of effort into getting people to see him as a man after transitioning. 

“You’re not awful in any way? Then why do you work for hell itself?” Fiona responded, laughing. She felt good, she felt like this late night bonding session could make this crisis workable. And then she realized Rhys hadn’t made a sound.

“We’re not that bad,” he responded, face falling. “Yeah, we’ve fucked a lot of people over, but they were gonna get messed up by any of the other corporations or gangs running this country. The world is rampant, and we’re just trying to tame it, make it more…”

“Don’t you dare say civilized,” Fiona butt in. “We didn’t ask for your savior bullshit.”

“But we’re going to make the country better.”

“You’ll put people like me who never had a chance at making it legit either behind bars or in the dirt, and you’ll put psychos like August and Handsome Jack behind mahogany desks.” 

“It’s not like that. You and Sasha,” Rhys started. “You’re different.”

“We’re conwomen. Grifters. Born into a life of crime. Do you think people just wake up and decide to be like this? Have you ever been so desperate for the chance of survival you’d risk everything?” Fiona spat. Rhys was quiet for a few seconds, and then;

“Yes.” He fidgeted with his socket again. 

Fiona seemed to deflate at the wheel. “Alright, no more on work stuff. Fair truce?” 

“I’m not spit shaking again,” Rhys replied, suspiciously eyeing her hands on the wheel. “But truce.” They sat in (relative) silence for a while, listening to the radio. Rhys closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how bad it would be to sleep. His symptoms had mostly dissipated, except for a headache cranking over his brain. But, but if he fell asleep, who would keep the driver awake? 

“I could kill someone for some food right now,” Rhys said, his eyes still shut. “Something greasy.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Fiona pulled off the road onto a barely-there path. “We’ve got plenty of greasy stuff in our stocks.” 

The bumps in the road awoke a grump Sasha and Vaughn, both of whom had shoved themselves into the passenger seat since they both fit. Sasha had a red mark on her forehead from where she had been pressed against the window, and Vaughn’s glasses were very askew on his face. It’d be adorable, like little kids falling asleep on the way home from grandma’s, if they weren’t in the beginning stages of hangovers. 

“What do we do about the guy in the back?” Sasha asked as they pulled into the driveway of a decaying house that looked it would collapse at the slightest wind. “We can’t just leave him in there, can we?”

“Well if we bring him in there he’ll be even more dead,” Rhys murmured. “Much like us.” He wondered if it was possible to get tetanus from just looking at a structure. Shit could cyborgs even get tetanus withal the metal in their body? He made a note to google that later. “You call this a safe house?” He asked, louder.

“No,” Fiona said, leading them to the back, ignoring Sasha’s question about the dead guy. She pulled open the cellar doors, revealing a concrete stairway with dim string lights going at least a story down. “This is our safe house. Old-ass nuclear bunker.” She smirked. “God bless dead doomsday preppers, man. Most useful people in the world.”

 

They ended up putting the Crimson Raider in the freezer for the night. The bunker had plenty of powdered eggs and oil. Fiona, Sasha, and Felix hadn’t been in this specific safe house for at least a few months, so there wasn’t any food that wasn’t frozen or powdered. Sasha whipped up some omelets for the group, throwing whatever she could find in that would be okay.

“Let’s see,” she said, bringing over a few plates. “It’s got canned beans, canned mushrooms, canned cheese, formerly-frozen ham, garlic, salt, and pepper. I thought of throwing some more stuff in there, since we aren’t really going to need this place anymore.” 

“Sasha, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Rhys said before shoving his oil-dripping, still-steaming omelet down his throat. It was weird, kind of rubbery, but he could not complain. Neither could Vaughn, who was already halfway through his. “How long until you guys can call Felix?”

Fiona and Sasha exchanged looks.

“We’re not sure,” Fiona admitted, fork halfway to her face. “He usually contacts us after cons, especially if they go wrong.”

“So we’re stuck here?” Vaughn said through a full mouth, weirdly articulate. 

“It’s never more than a day before he gets to us, though,” Sasha reassured them. “Two at most.” 

This was a lie. They’ve had to lay low for over a week before. Fiona didn’t correct her sister.

After finishing their omelets, they took a quick stock of what was in the bunker. There was: one (1) dead guy in the freezer, three (3) sentimental photographs floating around, five (5) boxes of powdered eggs, two (2) jugs of oil, many cans of food without expiration dates, three (3) functioning cots and two (2) busted up ones, three (3) actual mattresses that were pretty musty, three (3) set of clothes for each Fiona, Sasha, and Felix, two (2) cans of paint, three (3) smoke bombs, one (1) SMG (no ammo in the clip) that Sasha had named Vera several years ago, and a metric crapload of water bottles. Fiona knew there were more weapons stashed around, along with ammunition, but she was too tired to find Felix’s more creative hiding spots at the moment. 

“Dibbs on a mattress,” Rhys shouted and dove head-first into what was usually Fiona’s bed. The remaining three looked between each other before scrambling for the remaining two, musical chairs for tired adults. 

“Fuck, fine,” Fiona said as she missed out on the last mattress to Vaughn, sprawled out posture somewhere between unsexy spread-eagle and aggressive starfish. “I’ll take a cot.”

“Shouldn’t someone take watch?” Vaughn asked, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Nah, there’s no way anyone knows we’re here,” Fiona said, confident. Still, she pulled a cot close to the door, her pistol out to appease Vaughn with the illusion she’d take watch, pulled her hat over her face and fell fast asleep.

 

The group awoke a few hours later to gunshots.

“Shit,” Fiona spat, falling out of the cot. Detangling herself, she bounded up the stairs to check on the lock. In place, steadfast, could probably be cut through in five minutes. “We don’t have anything to fight them off with,” Fiona said, horror oozing through the shock.

“What do you mean? What about your pistol? The shotgun Sasha knocked me out with?” Rhys shouted, upending the flimsy plastic table to make some shelter.

“Shotgun was for show, Fiona used her only shot on Handsome Jack,” Sasha explained, checking the walls for secret panels. Felix loved hiding shit like guns and ammo behind stuff like that.

“So we were never in danger with you two?” Vaughn shouted, joining Rhys behind the table.

“Not now!” Fiona barked, trying to think up a situation where they could all get out. If needed, she could probably sell out Rhys and Vaughn, but she was already taking a liking to the two dipshits and they could be useful later, so that was a last resort. Maybe she could bluff her way out, with the guns, shoot blanks to make it look like they were armed—

The gunfire stopped outside. Someone started pounding on the door.

“YOU’RE MINE!” a demonic voice called from the other side. “Let me in NOW.”

“Oh shit,” said Fiona.

There was a clatter from one of the walls. “I found another exit,” Sasha hissed, motioning the group out a hole in the wall. They crept up, out into the house. Rhys recoiled at the rusted edges sticking out, and kept his arm close to him. Everything was pale and blue and almost peaceful looking in the early morning sun. They almost got to the car when a couple of guys from August’s gang emerged from the bushes.

“Well well well,” one of them said, holding his gun aloft. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves—” 

He was cut off by a shield cutting right into the side of his head. Blood spurt from the wound, covering Sasha. The shield stuck into his head. The other guy swore loudly and wheeled around, right into a sword, held by a hooded woman with dark hair and glowing red—Glowing red, holy shit!—eyes. She eviscerated him without a second thought, covering her front in blood and organs. Without a word, she went to the first man, yanked her shield out of his head, and turned to the group. They were all pretty much scared shitless.

“What is WRONG with you IDIOTS?” she yelled, sheathing her sword in its scabbard. “You piss off two gangs and the FBI, and won’t respond to the one competent person trying to save your asses?!”

“I—were you the one screaming ‘I own you’ or something?” Fiona asked, straightening out her back. The woman’s eyes had faded from that creepy demonic red (holy shit glowing red eyes) to an icy blue. 

“It was ‘You’re mine,’ as in ‘You are mine to protect,’ and I was trying to get out of GUNFIRE!” The woman gestured around. There were, well, there were a few more bodies strewn around. “And you kept the van?! Are you serious?” she huffed. “You better not have disposed of Roland or you’re dead no matter what I do.”

“He’s in the freezer,” Rhys interjected. Context clues told him she meant the Crimson Raider. “But why do we need his body?”

“Because if he gets anything short of a proper funeral, his girlfriend will have all your heads on pikes,” the woman said, and yanked down her hood. She was pretty, Fiona noticed—gorgeous. The woman ran her hands down her face. “And mine too, most likely. If she doesn’t kill us all anyway.”

“Excuse me, who are you, and why are you even here if it’s so dangerous?” Sasha cut into the woman’s thoughts. The woman looked surprised.

“Athena. Gladiator, assassin, part time Crimson Raider. Felix sent me,” she explained.

“Felix sent you?” Fiona asked, raising her eyebrows. “He already knows?”

“Everyone already knows,” Athena said and pulled out her phone to show them some message board. “You two have had high prices on your heads since the moment you shot at Handsome Jack.” Athena almost looked impressed saying that.

“Felix, is he alright?” Fiona asked, remembering his condition. This sort of stress while waiting for a new heart, oh god she hoped they didn’t give him a literal heart attack.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?” Athena asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

“He’s waiting for a new heart, that’s why,” Sasha spat. 

“Is that what he told you?” Athena frowned. “He went in for Lasik surgery. He called me from a Toronto area code.” She started walking back towards the bunker entrance, not paying much heed to how Fiona and Sasha were rooted in place. “Come on, we don’t have much of a lead, and I need to get you idiots to a friend’s place before nine. Grab whatever’s useful. Food, water, guns—we’ll need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously do not try the omelet recipe, it's probably terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been in the fanfic writing business for a long-ass time, but whatevs, I've still been writing. Also, a lot of this chapter was written whilst drinking.


End file.
